Harsh Truths
by homicidalslayer
Summary: Volume 2 of the HARSH Trilogy. An AU sequel of Harsh Explanations. It doesn't fit in with the Season 1 Chain of Events, so that's why it's a separate fic, so stop asking. Lots of ML angst, of course. Please Review. Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Setting:** Fogle Towers, 8:00am.

Max awoke to the sound of a typical Seattle traffic jam on the streets far below her. It sucks having hyper-sensitive hearing, Max thought as she sat up, casting the many layers of blankets aside. Outside the usual early morning layer of Pacific fog had, for the most part, burned off, but the city still had a slight aura of gray to it. Then again, that could be your typical urban smog. The sky was overcast, deep gray clouds threatening to empty their burdens upon the populace below.

Max sighed, and hauled herself up out of bed. She listened for signs of conscious life within the apartment. Hearing none, she decided to go check Logan's room to see if he was still asleep. She padded barefoot down the hallway, and tiptoed cautiously into his room.

He was awake, lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. When she entered the room, he pulled out of his trance to focus his attention on her, his face changed from one of concentration to one of surprise and (she hoped she wasn't imagining it) warmth as he took in the sight of her standing in his doorway.

"Hey," his voice _definitely_ held a note of surprise. "You're up early, too, I see."

"Too?" Max teased. "See, last I checked, you've gotta be out of bed and moving before you can be considered 'up.'" It didn't hit her until after she had said it that there was another possible interpretation, but she refused to go there, it'd only embarrass the both of them if it was mentioned aloud.

Logan simply gave a short laugh. "Yes, well, some of us actually require rest, even if sleep is unattainable." Max put on a pout for his amusement, before narrowing her eyes evilly and flopping down next to him on the bed.

"Well, you can pretty much kiss any notions of further rest goodbye," she said. "Because you've got a hungry and bored transgenic on in your apartment who doesn't have anywhere to be all day." Logan laughed and groaned in mock self-pity.

"Okay," he laughed. "I surrender." Max simply gave a slight smile and looked at him expectantly. Logan looked back up at the ceiling, the look on his face said that he was taking silent inventory of his kitchen's contents, considering potential foods he could create. Max _loved_ that look. Then his faced switched to the "Aha!" look she loved even more as he settled on a recipe.

"Okay," he braced his arms on either side of him and drew himself an upright sitting position. He grabbed the handles of his chair, and in one smooth motion, swung his body into it. "Shower, dress, call Original Cindy, whatever. I'm gonna dress and get started on breakfast." Satisfied, Max hopped up out of bed and flounced out of the room.

"You can also forget wasting the day working."She called over her shoulder. "Today is going to be an easy day." Logan smiled at this; how she tried to hide her sweetness with an arrogant, teasing tone of voice. Then he grabbed some fresh boxers and wheeled himself into the bathroom.

--**10 Minutes Later--**

Max strolled into the kitchen to find Logan had showered, dressed, and shredded part of a slab of chedder in the time it had taken her to dress and fix her hair. He was wearing black slacks and the powder blue sweater he'd worn the night of Zack's rescue. The sight of that sweater brought a quickly-repressed flash of memories. He smiled when he noticed her standing there.

"Hey," he greeted her. "Would you mind mincing that onion for me?" He nodded to the indicated vegetable, already halved and sitting on the cutting board. Max picked up the knife.

"Minced?" she asked, her eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement.

"Really tiny pieces," he defined. "Like, shreds."

"Oh. Why didn't you just say so?" Max moved the knife in quick, calculated movements, finishing in just under three minutes. She set down the knife and looked back up at Logan, who was staring at her, eyebrows raised in an amused and impressed expression. "Need anything else minced or chopped or whatever?" He shook his head, his expression never changing. Max flashed a grin at him and hopped up on the stool, watching him cook. He smiled back, and proceeded to make a cheese and onion omelet, bacon, and pancakes, all the while watched by a hungry chimera.

The conversation over breakfast was light, their issues from the previous evening tactfully avoided. Then, the food ran out, the dishes were washed, and the comfortable moment ended as they were faced with a difficult question: what the hell were they going to do for the rest of the day?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The series "Dark Angel" does in no way shape or form belong to me and, quite frankly, I'm glad that I don't have to live with being hated by every teenage girl from here (Pittsburgh) to Tokyo for starting Jessica Alba's career.**

**Setting: **Fogle Towers, Logan's living room.

Max sighed and proceeded to capture Logan's rook with her pawn. They were playing their third game of chess as they tried to figure out what to do with their day. Max's mind wasn't really on the game. She was too busy pouting. Logan moved his queen forward three spaces diagonally to the right. Then he sat up.

"Checkmate," he announced, more surprised than triumphant. Max snapped back into focus and studied the board. Then she looked up at him in astonishment. He was staring back at her, concerned.

"Max, are you okay? You seem," Logan paused, searching for the right word. "Twitchy."

_"Twitchy?"_

"Yes," he laughed. "Twitchy."

"I'm distracted is all," Max assured him.

"Penny for your thoughts," the amusement in Logan's face had died out, now replaced once again with concern. Max, however, remained silent. Logan sighed.

"So," he began, his voice revealing his disappointment. "Have you thought of anything else to do, or are you going to give up and let me finish my work?"

"Your work is **never** finished, Logan. You need to take a break once in a while." Logan rolled his eyes and looked away, having heard this numerous times. This hurt Max, for though she'd seem him do this to Bling often, he'd never done it to her.

"Fine," she spat. "Go back to work. I'll get out of your way." It took an enormous amount of effort, but she managed to make her voice sound nonchalant, as if she could care less what he did. She stood up and walked away, grabbing her jacket off of the floor where she'd tossed it the night before. Logan grimaced as he realized that he'd pissed her off again.

"Max," he called after her in his most persuasive, cajoling voice. It took every ounce of effort, but Max managed to ignore the draw of his tone and walk out the door. She didn't slam the door behind her this time; that would've been expressing emotion. When he heard the door click shut silently behind her, Logan sighed and rubbed his temples. Then, having nothing better to do, he wheeled to his computer and picked up where he'd left of the night before.

**To Be Continued...**

**NEXT TIME: More Max/Original Cindy & Logan/Bling**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Can't think of any snarky comments about Jessica Alba, so "Not mine" will have to do.

**Author's Note: **To all of you whiny people out there who complain that my chapters are too short, I would to point out that I have a _life_. I also have serious writer's block. In closing **_DEAL WITH IT!!!!!!!!!!_**

**Setting: Max and Original Cindy's Crib. That Evening**

"So what happened last with you and your boy last night, boo?" OC drawled as she gave applied blood red polish to her right middle finger.

"Nothing. Had a spat, I came home, I felt guilty, I gave in around three in the morning, went over there, found him still up working on some new article, we both apologized, and I crashed in his guest room." Max answered nonchalantly as she squatted by her motorcycle, cleaning various parts of it with a soft cloth.

"Uh-huh," Original Cindy's voice was sarcastic now. "And the reason you didn't come home 'till past noon was?"

"He fed me breakfast, we played chess, we had another fight, I left, came home." Max was proud of herself for revealing no outward emotion as she replied; especially since on the inside she felt as if her lungs, heart, and stomach had a guillotine blade dropped clean through them. Breathing hurt, moving hurt, _living _hurt in a way that made one of her seizures seem like a scraped knee.

"What were these fights about?" OC asked with raised eyebrows.

"That," Max replied evenly. "Is none of your business." And with that, she stood up walked off to her bedroom.

Original Cindy started as she heard Max's bedroom door slam. She then swore under her breath when she saw that she'd gotten nail polish on her knuckle from where her hand had jumped.

What in the world is going on with those two? She wondered as she wiped the polish away with the pad of her left thumb. Could their relationship _really _be as innocent as Max is always insisting? No, she decided as she started to paint her left index finger, even if they aren't getting busy, there is nothing innocent at the expression the two of them always looking at one another. They can make a room feel ten degrees warmer using just their eyes.

Original Cindy sighed and shook her head sadly as she finished painting her index and moved on to her middle finger. Those two needed to either confess and act upon their feelings for one another soon, or otherwise move on to find other romantic interests. Original Cindy wondered what the two of them had argued about, and how serious it was.

Maybe, she mused as she worked on her final finger, when the two of them make up they'll _really_ make up. One could only hope.

Now finished with her nails, she twisted the cap back onto the bottle and wafted her wet nails to hasten their drying, careful not to nick one and mess up her careful work. As she waited, she pondered potential ways to talk to Max about Logan without receiving a concussion or bloody nose. If Richboy has hurt my boo, Original Cindy silently vowed, Original Cindy will put the Smackdown on his ass.

**To be Continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** The series "Dark Angel" is not mine. It belongs to a bunch of a--wipes Twentieth Century Fox. I also have no claim to the band Korn or any of their work.

**Setting: **Fogle Towers, approximately 6:30pm.

Logan sat at his desk, trying to concentrate on the work in front of him, and failing to do so. His hands were sitting motionless on the keyboard, as they had for the past ten minutes. He was waiting for Bling to head home for the night. It wasn't that he didn't like Bling; quite the opposite in fact. It was just that tonight every single noise was a source of distraction for him. That, and his pride wouldn't allow him to start sulking until there was no other living being around to ridicule him for it.

So, of course, Bling decided to stop in before he left to see if there was anything else that Logan needed. And, of course, the first thing he noticed was the expression on Logan's face as he sat staring dreamily at the unlit Halogen desk lamp sitting next to the computer.

"Something wrong, Logan?" Bling asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway in what Logan noted to be a very Max-like manner. Logan broke out of his trance to glance up at him for a moment before focusing on the computer screen.

"Somethings always wrong, Bling," Logan replied steadily, wanting the other man to leave. "We live in a broken world." He gestured to his computer screen as he spoke.

"Now, we both now I meant with you," Bling's facial expression was one of amusement and concern. "What's up, you and Max have a tiff or something?"

"A 'tiff?'" Logan found Bling's choice of words amusing. "Well, I don't think I'd call it that."

"So what would you call it?" Bling was triumphant that Logan had admitted that something _had_ indeed happened between he and Max.

"I," Logan paused before admitting, "have absolutely no clue. She's mad at me, I guess, for working when she was around."

"Uh-huh," Bling nodded, indicating that Logan should continue.

"It- I don't know," Logan sighed in frustration. "Look, Max just needs time to cool off, and I'm giving it to her. That's really all that can be done. So if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to what I was doing."

"Absolutely nothing, you mean?" Oh yeah, _lots _of amusement in that tone. Bling straightened from the doorway and turned to leave. "Well, okay then. I'll leave you to it." He paused and turned his head back to call "Hope she comes back soon. You seem lost without her, you know." And with that he left for the evening, calling to Logan that he'd see him tomorrow.

Logan said nothing, marveling at the fact that the other man was right, and only one thought passed through his mind for several long minutes afterwards:

_What the hell am I going to do now?_

**Cough, Cough **

**You people are lucky I'm sick and have nothing better to do than torture fictional characters.**

**CUT TO:**

**Setting: **Max and Original Cindy's Crib

Max slammed her bedroom door behind her in order to express the finality of the conversation to Original Cindy. She flopped down onto her seldom-used bed and stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

When she noticed her position on the bed and it's resemblance to Logan's that morning, her mind raged at the image of Logan, under his comforter, wearing a gray cotton tee that was clingy in all the right places, and _possibly _navy boxers, but she'd only had a glimpse of them.

This train of thought continued for all of two minutes until the sensible voice of 452 in her head blocked them out.

_What's the matter with you, Soldier! You are not in heat. Sentimentality is the quickest rode to a painful death at the hands of militant whack jobs! _

**Oh please, **The other voice drawled, **you're a militant whack job. **

****_I'm keeping us alive._

**Just because we have a heartbeat doesn't mean we're really living.**

Max shook her head to silence the voices. That's it, she thought, I've gone insane. I'm listening the Annoying voice yet again. Once OC's at Crash, I'm going to go see Logan and apologize. Not because I feel sorry, but because I need to see him. The cold, paralyzing ache had settled in her chest once again.

_You're like a junkie itching for a fix._ Her inner Soldier scolded.

**There is no sweeter high. ** The Annoying Voice replied in a sing-song voice.

_You can't possibly justify--_ The Inner Soldier began.

**Tryp-to-phan** The Annoying Voice sang in reply.

_Damn._

Max groaned, rolled to a stand, and went to probe her closet for something different to wear. Then she waited for OC to leave, fortunately, she didn't have to wait long. Then she hopped on her Ninja, and sped through the streets of Seattle on her way to Logan's.

**Korn's _See you on the other side _blasts as the Author Coughs up a Lung**

**Cut To:**

**Setting: **Logan's Penthouse, about thirty minutes later.

Having given up any hope of working, Logan had decided to eat and then call it an early night. He was pouring himself a bowl of Corn Flakes when a voice far to feminine to be Bling's spoke up from somewhere behind him.

"That," The Voice Scolded. "Is _not _a proper meal." Logan grinned and wheeled to face the Voice.

"And a grown man," Max added. "Really shouldn't be turning in at oh," She glanced at her watch, "8:30. What are you, eighty?" Logan simply grinned at her.

"Well, in regard to the cereal," He said. "I had no inspiration for anything else." His grin grew as Max turned slightly pink at his words.

"Yeah, well, now you've got some," Max retorted.

"Oh I do, do I?" Logan's voice did nothing to conceal his amusement.

"Yes," Max replied. "It's called 'survival.'" Logan laughed.

"Okay, just let me get this cleared away," he said as he proceeded to pour the (thankfully) dry cereal back into the box. "And I'll make us some _real_ food."

Just what I wanted to hear," Max agreed, snatching the cereal box from him and putting it away for him. Logan laughed, recognizing her helpful act as an attempt to get him in front of the fridge (and, consequently, dinner's ingredients) faster.

**A/N: That's All for now, Folks. To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dark Angel or any of their characters, or anyone else I might mention in this chapter who is trademarked or copyrighted or whatever.

**A/N: For _some_ reason, November is a very popular month with M/L fans. Can't for the life of me figure out why. ;)** **I'm joking, of course. Therefore, I would like to dedicate this chapter to all of my reviewers who had FFN anniversaries in the month of November. **

**Setting: **Where we left off. Look it up.

Max sat perched upon a stool in the kitchen, watching Logan chop and mix and do things for which she knew no name. There was a strange silence between the two, she couldn't tell whether or not it was comfortable. So finally, she decided to break it.

"So," Max inquired. "What exactly are we eating?"

"An American classic," he replied without looking up from the pound of hamburger he was dumping into a mixing bowl.

"Meaning?" Max asked with raised eyebrows, his meals were usually gourmet, and, as far as she could recall, never American.

"Meaning I'm too lazy to make anything else," he admitted. "So we're having meatloaf." When he brought himself to make eye contact, he found her smiling at him.

"What?" he asked with a nervous laugh. Max's smile broadened.

"We're having something normal," her voice wasn't mocking, just amused, her smile genuine. He smiled back at her.

"You know," he said as he transferred the meaty gunk into a loaf pan. "Most people would be disappointed. Meatloaf isn't exactly fine cuisine."

"Oh, come on, Logan," Max teased. "We both know you're gonna dress it up _somehow_. It's in your nature. You can't help it." Logan laughed at that and nodded sheepishly. He usually couldn't stand meatloaf, it was icky, but he was too tired to make anything else.

"I can leave it plain if you want," he offered.

"No, no," Max replied quickly. "Your way's fine." Logan laughed once again.

"Can you set the table?" Max nodded, and set to work doing so. As she was setting out a fork for him, she noticed her left hand was shaking. She dropped the fork and grabbed it with her right hand and held it until she was sure it was steady. She glanced up to see if Logan had seen. He hadn't.

Logan sprinkled some spices on top of the squishy hunk of cornflakes, onions and flesh, and put it in the oven, setting the timer. Then he washed some lettuce and diced some tomatoes to make a simple salad. He brought the salad bowl over to the table along with cordials of oil and vinegar. He and Max made eye contact, and did the whole "gaze at each other with gooey eyes like idiots" thing for an immeasurable amount of time before they both broke off, embarrassed.

"Do you want to have the salad now or with the meatloaf?" Logan asked, trying desperately to avoid an awkward silence. He was proud of himself for being able to say the word "meatloaf" without making a face.

"Later," Max replied. Logan was glad that she'd said this; he wanted to confront the elephant in the room, and figured there was a better chance that she wouldn't bail if she hadn't eaten yet.

"I want a rematch." Logan broke from his reverie, confused at her words until he saw her eyes were on the chess set.

"We have time before the food, right?" Max's voice was uncertain now, but he saw this as an opening to address the issue.

"Chess doesn't seem to be very lucky for us recently," Logan replied grimly. Max sighed, pulled a chair out from under the table, and plopped down on it, facing him, although her eyes did not quite meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she finally met his eyes for a moment before dropping them down to stare at the floor. "I don't know what came over me. Guess I really was twitchy." She shot him a sardonic grin that he could tell was meant to be self deprecating. He wheeled in closer, less than an arm's length away.

"Hey," Logan said softly, guiding her face up by the base of her jaw so that he could look her in the eyes again. "It wasn't just you, okay? Things have been... tense with us. For a while now."

"Yeah," Max's voice was soft and despairing, just above a whisper. "Well, I'll tell you my issue if you tell me yours." They both grinned at her choice of words.

"You wouldn't tell me what was wrong. It bugged me," he felt surprised at his own admission even as he said the words. "Like you still don't trust me enough to let me know what's on your mind."

"I trust you, Logan. More than anyone. Even Zack, now that I've met him. I just felt kind of weird this morning. I don't know," She sighed. "I haven't been able to concentrate on _anything_ recently. My mind just keeps blanking out. And before my hand was shaking. I think my seizures might be about to act up again."

"Well, I keep a full bottle of tryptophan in the bathroom cabinet if you want to crash here," he offered hopefully. "You probably shouldn't be out and about at night like that. You start seizing at a sector checkpoint, you'll end up back at Langford."

"Yeah, thanks I think I will crash here." Max accepted his offer readily. When given the choice between seizures at a place with clean sheets and hot water, and her apartment, with its cold water and sheets that were seldom used and washed even less frequently. And, while she loved her roommate, a post-Crash OC couldn't hold a candle to a doting Logan. Even though she was making herself vulnerable to him, the warring voices in her head did not speak up, seeing as there was barely enough room in her imploding head for her psyche.

Logan and Max chatted comfortably for a while. Then, as the oven timer rang out, yellow-white lights exploded behind Max's eyes and she was thrown from her seat as her body was racked with tremors.

**To Be Continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Dark Angel is not mine. Neither is Buffy the Vampire Slayer, to whom I credit my inspiration for this chapter. Nor is Myspace, or the band Lillix.

**A/N: I'm sorry if my description of the arrangement of Logan's furniture does not match that of the show, but it's my story, so too bad. **To all who are a fan of the whole "Seizures-Making-Max-Weak" thing, I'm sorry, but the first person to review the previous chapter did not share your views, and to be perfectly honest, neither do I. Oh, and if you're really into this story, listen to "Sweet Temptation" by Lillix as you read. You can find the song on their Myspace profile.

**Setting: Logan's penthouse**

Max stumbled back as multiple shock waves shot through her, on after the other. Her vision was impaired by the yellow-rimmed white lights that exploded over her pupils. She grappled for anything to steady herself, and found herself flipping backwards over Logan's sofa.

How did I end up in the living room? She wondered as she struggled to stop herself mid-flip. To her own surprise, she produced enough force to not only upright herself, but actually ended up flinging herself forward.

What is up with these seizures? Floated through her mind as she crashed face first against the floor. She heard a Voice call out her name, and then felt something crash onto the floor next to her. Then she was being dragged on the floor towards the Voice, and she was being twisted so that her face was now pointed towards the blurry white thing that she assumed to be the ceiling. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the light and allow her pupils time to reset themselves.

Now her mouth was being forced open, and something solid that she assumed to be tryptophan was shoved in. She was swallowing the pills when a liquid was suddenly dumped into her mouth. She tried to speak; to protest, when the liquid went down her throat. Most of it went down her esophagus, but some surpassed her epiglottis and trickled down her larynx, choking her. She coughed and sputtered and flared her arms to push the arms that restrained her away. Her legs kicked out and connected with something. She heard a crash, and the Voice muttered curses under it's breath, and pulled her in closer, tighter.

When the seizures lessened enough, Max finally ventured to open her eyes. Her vision was not perfect, but it was not nearly as bad as it had been. A few long blinks later, and she was able to clear away most of the blurriness. The Voice, obviously, had been Logan, who had apparently thrown himself out of his chair to sit on the floor, leaning against the back of the sofa. He was holding her head in his lap, a bottle of pills and a glass of milk next to them on the floor.

"Hey," She tried to smile up at him, and ended up with a sort of a grimace, hoping that her eyes, at least, conveyed her gratitude.

"Hey," He did not return it, but instead traced her jawline with the backs of two fingers. His eyes flitted momentarily to something ahead of them that she could not see, and then returned to meet her. After a second, Max figured it out.

"What- What did I kick?" Her voice was shaky more out of worry that he was angry than the seizures. He gave her an obviously forced smile.

"Don't worry about it," His voice was nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed him.

"You are," Max pointed out. "Why don't you just tell me?" Logan sighed and pulled himself farther under her still racked-by-tremors body so that she was in a position so that she could see her feet.

One of them was embedded _in_ the wall.

"Oh." Max shut her eyes and dropped her head back onto Logan's lap. He moved himself back to lean against the sofa. Max screwed her eyelids tight with concentration, then suddenly her body went taught and she violently reclaimed her foot from the wall. For a moment, her leg remained bent, her knee up by her chest, as if she was frozen in shock, then dropped down next to the other one.

A wave of shakes rippled through her, then then subsided, and she lay still. Her stillness frightened Logan. He grabbed her by her shoulders and hauled her up so that her neck and the base of her head rested on his shoulders, her back against his chest. Her eyes flew open as he squeezed her waist and murmured her name into her ear. He'd known that if she was conscious enough to hear and feel him, to be aware of the intimacy of their positioning, she'd be freaked out enough to show it. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she turn to look at him, confused.

"So you _are _awake," Logan's voice and expression conveyed both his amusement and his relief.

"Yeah," Max replied. "I think those pills are starting to kick in." To prove it, she rolled off of him –much to his disappointment-- and into a squatting position. Then she braced herself between the wall and the sofa, and stood shakily. She clutched the sofa for a bit as her body adjusted to supporting itself again. Then she straightened, and extended a hand to Logan.

Logan was torn between damaging his pride by accepting her help, or rejecting it and risking her leaving him there, hurt. Staring into her eyes, Logan considered both options for all of a second, before taking her hand. She closed her other hand over his to get a better grip, and in one smooth motion, with a strength that amazed him, pulled him upright and swung him into his chair. Wordlessly, she flashed him a small smile of gratitude, picked up the milk glass and pill bottle from the floor, and turned to him.

"Thank you," she said quietly, almost at a whisper. Then, before he could reply, she swooped down.

And kissed him.

**A/N: Muah ha ha ha ha ha ha. That's what you get for completely ignoring the previous chapter.** Now I've resorted to threatening my reviewers: Review or this cliffhanger will mark the end of the "Harsh" Triliogy. Which will not even make it to trilogyhood. It will despair and die here. **Muah ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: The TV show is Not Mine.**

**A/N: This is to be the final chapter of this volume. Be on the lookout for the final volume, Harsh Realizations, due out sometime within the next two weeks.**

**Setting: Oh, please, as if any of you have forgotten.**

It was more of lip-to-lip contact than an actual kiss. Honestly, as kisses go, it was pretty half-assed. But the emotion was there, the sacrifice had been made and the vulnerability laid bare.

Max stood bent, her lips on Logan's, for all of ten seconds, before, having no response from him whatsoever, she lost her nerve, and stepped back, eyes wide with fear and humiliation and desperately scanning his for some sort of reprieve, some sign that she hadn't just ruined their friendship.

There was none.

The only thing in his eyes was shock. She backed a few steps away, swallowing nervously. Breaking from his surprised stupor, he reached out calmly and grabbed her left wrist and took the now shaking glass of milk from her hand, and set it down next to them on the floor, well out of the way. Then he reclaimed her wrist, and yanked her towards him so that she fell and was once again in his lap. The two of them rolled backwards in the chair several feet, but neither of them noticed, because as soon as she had landed in his lap, he'd kissed her.

_Really_ kissed her.

After her own bout of shock wore off, Max responded rather enthusiastically. Hands wandered, tongues dueled. No sound was heard throughout the apartment for nearly half an hour, with the exception of the occasional moans that floated from the living room. Then the internal fires slowly cooled, their kisses were reduced from a frantic pace to one that was more slow and leisurely. Eventually they parted, and Max sat back a bit so that she could look him in the eyes. Then she narrowed her own evilly, and poked him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Logan half exclaimed, half laughed in surprised pain. "What was that for?"

"That," Max answered as she stood. "Was for leaving me hanging there, thinking I'd ruined everything." She walked off. Logan scrambled after her, calling "Where are you going?" She turned and continued on, walking backwards as she spoke.

"I'm starved," she replied simply. Logan laughed and shook his head; he was now especially glad that he'd turned the oven off as he'd been retrieving her tryptophan pills.

When he wheeled into the kitchen after her, bringing the milk glass with him, he found her sniffing a forkful of the meatloaf, the pan in front of her. She finally ventured to actually put the food into her mouth, chewed it for all of two seconds before her face twisted up into the most amusing expression of disgust he had ever seen. So amusing, in fact, that Logan neglected to feel insulted as she spat the contents of her mouth out into the trash and stuck her mouth under the faucet in an attempt to rinse all of the residue out of her mouth. Once she had purged her mouth of the offending taste, she turned and walked towards him.

"You tasted better," was all she said before once again she was in his lap and they were joined at the mouth in a manner that could not be tainted by a word as plain as 'kissing.'

When they once again parted lips, they sat silent for a minute or so, eyes saying silently all of the things that they couldn't say aloud. Finally, Logan broke the lusty spell that enveloped them.

"So, um," he sputtered, trying to gather his thoughts. "What happens now? Are we, like, together, or..." He trailed off, knowing that she got the idea. Max simply shrugged and pressed her mouth over his once again, and all coherent thought left him as her tongue teased his into moving in sync with hers.

Finally, after a while of letting her rule their little make out session, Logan began to take initiative, determined to take control of the situation. He took a hands-on approach that soon had her half whimpering/half purring into his mouth, having lost track of the previously established rhythm. Then, in the middle of one of her little moans, he pulled back, holding her face away from his own so that he could look her in the eyes as she let out a cry of protest.

"I ask you again now Max," Logan told her breathlessly. "Are we together now or not?" Something in their actions told her that the decision had long since been made. She nodded, looking in his eyes so that he could see her sincerity. Satisfied, he released her and they once again were engulfed in one another.

**Cut to:**

**Logan's Bedroom**

**Several Hours Later**

Max flopped back next to Logan, both of them sweaty, physically exhausted, but extremely happy.

"So," Logan teased. "I rather hope I've expunged you of any regrets you may have had about us." Max curled in close to him with a purr.

"Mm, seeing you naked expunged me of the only regret that I had," was her lusty reply as she snuggled into his side.

"Which would be?" Logan's voice was that of amused curiosity.

"That we hadn't done this sooner," she sighed sleepily, her breath tickling his chest. "You're definitely worth the wait." He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, pleased.

"Besides, I totally blame you for us not doing this before now," Max informed him. Logan's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh yeah? My fault?" He asked amused. "How do you figure?"

"Well," Max said as she arched and stretched her lats. "You're the one who kept getting their panties in a twist over their stupid pride. You kept kicking me out whenever stuff started to head in this direction." Logan started to protest, but Max cut him off. "_And_ I'm the woman in this relationship, last I checked, and therefore, my word is infallible. So there!" Logan laughed and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, any and all conflict forgotten as the two curled in closer together.

And, ignoring the looming threats of what the next day might bring, the happy pair drifted of to sleep.

**THE (disgustingly mushy and angst-less) END**

**MUAH HA HA HA HA**. **HA HA. HA.**

**A/N: Many thanks to antilope, for being a faithful reviewer and excellent test audience for this chapter. Happy Holidays everyone,**

**and **

**Review!**


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